Dear Lord, Creator of the Universe, you fill me with wonder.
Your Creation spans the glory of the infinite heavens
Your work, small and precious as a newborn's breath
Yet as deep and staggering as the fastless sky
I am but a dust-hewn ape
Living only by your Breath
I scribble and I write
Weaving my little imagined worlds
From the chicken-scratches of my tongue
Knowing full well that You
Are the Author
Of all things
And so it is with some
trepidation
Fear and trembling, even
That I bring
This up.
You do realize
That Tim LaHaye
Already wrote
This story?
I mean, maybe
You didn't
Read it.
Or maybe
Like me
you just
Watched about ten agonizing minutes
of that You-awful
Movie with
Kirk Cameron.
But
from what I know
these characters
Are really transparently
Derivative.
Particularly the
loud horrible one
With Eastern European
Entanglements
And I had come to expect
A little more surprise
And a little less
Obviousness and Drab Venality
From the works of Your Manifold Glory
Unless
Unless
This is a
Timely
Contextually ironic
Reboot.
Oh.
Right.
Well.
In which case
Wow, as my fellow
Presbyterian
Anne LaMott might
Say.
And also:
Help.
AMEN
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